


you’re warm and fuzzy and i like it

by paperfrog



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fainting, Fever, Fluff, M/M, Manhandling, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, and zzt being taken care of, just zzt and wzy loving each other, npc twitter is dead but i will die on this hill, very soft and tame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperfrog/pseuds/paperfrog
Summary: Zhengting is clingy when he’s tipsy and even clingier when he’s sick.(aka an excuse to write a drunkfic and sickfic in one)
Relationships: Wang Ziyi/Zhu Zhengting | Jung Jung
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for context let’s say they’re both university seniors and in a relationship and currently they’re at a house party

Zhengting is buzzed. Not full out drunk – that’ll take a few more drinks – but tipsy enough to not know quite where he ends and Ziyi begins. Ziyi’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders and it feels good. Freeing, but also grounding, like he’s floating on a blanket of clouds. Soft.

“‘Yi,” he slurs, giggling. From where his head is buried in the crook of Ziyi’s neck, he feels Ziyi swallow a sigh. “‘Yiii,” he starts again, words sticking together, “I like you, y'warm.”

Ziyi indulges him, nodding and reaching across Zhengting’s chest to grab the solo cup he’s nursing and _oh,_ now he’s really wrapped all up in Ziyi. It’s the easiest thing in the world for Ziyi to separate him from his punch, because all Zhengting can think about is _comfort_ and _love._

It’s warm, _so_ warm, Zhengting sticks by his words, and he likes Ziyi so _much_ , Ziyi has to know. He says it again. He feels Ziyi’s responding chuckle with his entire body, the warmth spreading from the weight of Ziyi’s arm behind his shoulders to his head and toes. Ah, he wants to stay here forever. Exactly like this.

On his other side, he feels the couch dip and a cool hand touches his forehead. Zhengting’s brows furrow as he tries to burrow further into Ziyi the Human Furnace. “G’way,” he grumbles. This is Ziyi and Zhengting time. They’re one person, away from everyone else.

“Wow, Zhengzheng is _drunk_ ,” he hears, and he feels Ziyi shift in response, saying something back.

Zhengting whines indignantly, because he’s _not._ He’s just tipsy, and he’s working very hard right now to fuse with Ziyi. Distantly, he knows he’ll be embarrassed by his public display tomorrow, but dammit, why is it so _hard_ to turn from one person into half a person?

“‘Ting,” Ziyi says, and it sounds like he’s speaking through water, “c’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Yeah, bed. Bed sounds good. Zhengting drops his entire weight onto Ziyi’s side, head smushed into Ziyi’s neck, where he blows a raspberry. “I love you,” he murmurs, “goodnight.”

He completely zones out for a while after that. Voices surround him, but they’re not directed at him, he doesn’t think, so he lets the noises serve as a blanket. Inconsequential, soothing, safe.

He’s so close to drifting off that it shocks him when teeth nip his ear. “Ah!”

Ziyi laughs, moving down to bite at his neck. “As much as I like cuddling with you here, my legs are falling asleep and it smells like puke and sweat. Let’s go.”

Zhengting’s nose crinkles at the sensory visual. He doesn’t understand what Ziyi’s saying – all he smells is Ziyi, which is nice. He likes it here. He wants to stay.

“I’m flattered, baby, but we need to go. It won’t be fun waking up here in the morning.”

Ah. He said some of that out loud. “Carry me,” he grumbles, flinging his arms around Ziyi’s neck. Ziyi can and will. They’re currently one person, after all.

“Ha,” Ziyi says, “No way. C’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Zhengting just clings tighter. Ziyi pulls at his arms, but Zhengting resists – he’s strong, he knows he is, even when tipsy. He’s strong and strategic. Zhengting pushes himself up with his arms securely grabbing onto Ziyi, and situates his legs around Ziyi’s torso as well.

Now completely on Ziyi’s lap, Zhengting leans back so he can look into his eyes and grin. He can’t help it, he has to gloat. There’s no way Ziyi can push him off now.

But that doesn’t mean he’s prepared for Ziyi to close the distance and kiss him. At the initial feeling of soft lips pressed against his, Zhengting balks, but he melts into it easily, parting his lips and letting Ziyi inside.

As Ziyi kisses him, the buzzing in his head grows stronger, his entire world focusing on Ziyi’s lips and body against his.

It feels good, really good, and _warm_. He loves being warm around Ziyi. It’s so safe and secure, and all he has to worry about is being happy. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he falls limp and lets the other man catch him.

Ziyi’s arms shift to hold him, one under his butt and the other around his back, keeping him close. Ziyi smiles against his mouth, and then Zhengting’s in the air.

Zhengting will swear by his life that there is no better feeling than this, being held securely in Ziyi’s arms and knowing there is no chance Ziyi would let him fall. He can completely let go, tune out the world around him, and focus only on Ziyi’s warmth wrapped around him, cocooning him against his chest.

Zhengting closes his eyes and rests his head on Ziyi’s shoulder, feeling the rumble in Ziyi’s chest as he announces something about leaving and begins to move. 

He drifts on the currents of alcohol still buzzing in his system and Ziyi’s body heat, relaxing fully in Ziyi's hold. The lull of Ziyi’s even steps quiets his mind.

Zhengting will never admit it, but part of the reason he goes to parties with Ziyi and gets drunk is so that he can cling to Ziyi afterwards. And, if he’s lucky like today, convince him to carry him home.

“Cuddle me when we get back?” Zhengting asks into Ziyi’s collarbone, the question second nature by now.

Ziyi kisses the top of his head, and Zhengting hugs him tighter in response. “Of course, baby.”

Oh, _yay_. Zhengting wins again. He loves Ziyi; loves his warmth and his kindness, but most of all loves how they’re on the same page, almost one person.

They get back to their shared dorm room and change into their pajamas, throwing their outside clothes onto the spare bed.

It doesn’t take long to fall asleep, after that. They lie in bed, chest to chest, Zhengting’s nose buried in Ziyi’s collar. Their legs tangle together, and Ziyi’s arm drapes over him. Zhengting draws slow finger circles on Ziyi’s back and falls asleep like that, Ziyi breathing softly into his hair.

When he wakes up, warm and loose and slightly hungover, Ziyi is there with a glass of water, stroking a hand through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be sickfic, most of which i wrote before this lol. i totally just said ziyi’s strong enough to carry zhengting’s deadweight effortlessly which i very much doubt, so this is officially a fantasy au LMAO. for plot purposes he can do this next chapter as well


	2. sick

Ziyi watches the way Zhengting dances in the practice room with a frown, noting the haggard movement of his limbs and the slight offbeat tilt of his head. The time is already half past four, three hours after Zhengting promised to call it quits and return to the dorms.

Ziyi himself had finished his training hours ago. By that time, the other practice rooms were already long deserted, the lights switched off, save for one. 

Ziyi, to his dismay, had followed the faint glow and opened the door, only to be greeted by Ziyi’s sneakers squeaking harsh staccatos against the polished wood floor. They shared a quick glance in the mirror, and Ziyi plopped himself down against the wall, legs thrown haphazardly before him.

He still sits here now, having only gotten up to buy a cup of soup for Zhengting, warm and ready for him to eat once he’s done. 

Except it’s been three hours now. And the soup is ice cold, so. There’s that.

Five more minutes, Ziyi decides as he steals a glance at the clock. If Zhengting doesn’t stop in five minutes, he’ll drag him home by his ear.

Ziyi leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and settles to wait. Before him, Zhengting commands the attention of the room. Despite his obvious fatigue, Ziyi admits that Zhengting looks as ethereal as always, deep in his element.

When Zhengting dances, he abandons his usual shy, slightly awkward boy-next-door personality to reveal a fox that throws sideways glances and lip tilts in all the right places.

Ziyi finds it easy to lose himself in Zhengting’s fluid movements, watching as he ends his routine with a final turn and raises his hands in the air. The music trails off and the room is occupied only by Zhengting’s quiet, labored breathing and the ticking of the clock.

Beautiful, but also enough for today. 

Ziyi smiles fondly and begins to walk toward Zhengting. “Is the prince finally done practicing?” he asks, smirking.

He lifts the bag holding the cup of soup, and the red “ _have a nice day”_ print stares back at him, almost mockingly. It’s have a nice _night_ , Ziyi thinks with a mental scoff, thank you very much. “I brought you something. It’ll cool you down, since you’ve practiced long enough for it to do that.”

Zhengting doesn’t reply, doesn’t rise to his slight jab, so Ziyi assumes that he’s still too out of breath to say anything. He pulls Zhengting into a hug and shakes the plastic bag so it crinkles obnoxiously. In his arms, Zhengting doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even react to the noise Ziyi is making save for an annoyed little whine, which makes Ziyi chuckle.

He remains unmoving for a few moments, leaning firmly into Ziyi’s touch, and Ziyi realizes it’s one of those days. Sometimes, after a particularly hard day, Zhengting likes to cling to Ziyi’s warmth, claiming that it’s a comfort to feel melded like this.

It’s fine, Ziyi actually enjoys it and indulges him most days, but it’s really late, and they should get back to their dorm. Tomorrow is a weekday, after all, and they need to function like humans. Especially Zhengting, who has a test with the difficult Professor Li. 

Ziyi moves to gently pry Zhengting away, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he becomes more akin to a limp noodle and flops further into Ziyi’s arms.

This is unusual – normally, when Ziyi shows resistance to cuddling, Zhengting will giggle in a way that sets off butterflies in Ziyi’s stomach and move to hold his hand instead. Even more unusual – Zhengting’s breathing is still heavy, despite his routine ending a good five minutes ago. 

Against his neck, Ziyi feels Zhengting’s breath fan almost uncomfortably warm. 

“‘Ting?” Ziyi lets the bag of soup slide to the floor and tightens his grip around Zhengting’s waist. Zhengting groans feebly in response. The sound is so weak and crinkly that Ziyi shoves Zhengting back, fingers digging into Zhengting’s shoulders anxiously.

His sudden movement must have been too rough, because Zhengting’s breath hitches, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Bringing his hands to his forehead, Zhengting stumbles back with a feeble breath, fingers rubbing small, shaky circles into his temple. It’s weak. It looks so weak. 

Ziyi’s stomach drops as he gets a better look at his boyfriend.

The fluorescent lights shine harshly on Zhengting’s skin, bringing out its pallid tint and the sickly gleam of sweat on his face. It contrasts so starkly from his usual healthy glow, indicating a good practice, that Ziyi is left reeling, unsure what to do.

Zhengting grits his teeth, head tilted down, and slowly blinks once, twice, before lifting his head to look at Ziyi. He sways back and forth, mumbling, “Ziyi… m’head hurts…”

Oh, no.

Zhengting’s eyes are glazed over. His gaze remains unfocused, vision aimed somewhere behind Ziyi. He fumbles absently, fingers furling and unfurling around the hem of his tank top.

When Ziyi just stands there, Zhengting’s eyebrows draw together, and Ziyi watches in mounting horror as sweat beads collect on the edge of his temples and tears collect on the edge of his eyes.

And, oh, Zhengting won’t stop _swaying_. Ziyi’s head is alight with blaring sirens. Zhengting, when sober at least, never opens up about whatever pain he’s feeling.

Ziyi’s mind flashes to about two years ago, when Zhengting nearly broke his back endlessly practicing backbends and aerial flips to the point where he was professionally forced to take a six month break from dancing, all because he refused to tell anyone about the persistent, “irrelevant” back pains he had been experiencing.

Zhengting is the type to hide anything he’s feeling behind a smile and hard work until it’s too late, so who is this Zhengting in front of him? His eyes are now half-lidded, watching Ziyi hazily.

Ziyi brings the back of his hand to Zhengting’s forehead, and they close with a contented sigh. “Mn, cold… comfy…”

Ziyi has to force himself to not jump back, Zhengting’s skin burning like a furnace. He’s sick; of _course_ he’s sick. His hard practice coupled with his fever was such a bad idea, god, his baby looked so weak. But, okay.

Ziyi can work with this, now that he knows what’s going on. “‘Ting, baby, you’re burning.” 

Zhengting scrunches his nose, which Ziyi will never not find cute, but his openly needy, desperate behavior is worrisome. Lucid Zhengting is stubbornly prideful. His response is so quiet Ziyi almost misses it, spoken between weak puffs of air. “Burning? ‘M not, ‘m okay… hand.”

When Ziyi removes his hand, Zhengting reaches for it blindly, but stumbles in his weakened state and falls into Ziyi’s embrace. Zhengting doesn’t even flinch at his loss of balance. 

Ziyi winces at how hot Zhengting’s entire body has gotten, now that he’s tired and not trying to suppress his fever so he can practice one more time. Zhengting catches the sleeves of Ziyi’s jacket weakly, his grip so light that Ziyi almost misses it.

Now no longer holding himself up, Zhengting breathes as deeply as he can into Ziyi’s arms, breath catching around his stuffy nose. He rests his head on Ziyi’s shoulder, and when Ziyi tightens his grip around Zhengting’s waist, it’s like something snaps. 

Zhengting practically _melts_ and, with the smallest, feeblest whine, his hands fall limply to his sides. Suddenly, his entire body weight is on Ziyi’s chest. 

The clock ticks in the background. Zhengting makes no move to get up. 

Ziyi freezes, in shock, hardly processing what just happened. He takes in Zhengting’s weak, labored breaths and his reddened face, covered in sweat. From where he leans on Ziyi, his hair and cheek push up in a way that tugs at Ziyi’s heartstrings, but—why isn’t he getting up? 

He puts a gently hand on Zhengting’s shoulder, hardly hearing himself over his pounding ears. “Baby…? ‘Ting?”

Zhengting doesn’t respond, doesn’t even make a sound. His long lashes, wet with sweat and frustrated tears, don’t even flutter. 

“Zhengting?” Ziyi tries again, voice hitching higher. He takes a deep breath, fighting to stay calm. God, how sick _was_ Zhengting? How had Ziyi not noticed enough to do something about it?

Ziyi admits that he had been busy preparing for his own senior showcase, but that doesn’t excuse dismissing Zhengting’s recent coughing spells and frantic sneezes as seasonal allergies.

Fuck. He should have watched more carefully. 

Zhengting groans softly, spurring Ziyi into motion. He lowers them slowly to the ground, sitting with his legs crossed. He positions Zhengting’s head on his shoulder and sits him on his thigh, cradling Zhengting in his lap. Taking a deep breath, he puts the back of his hand on Zhengting’s forehead and sucks in a sharp breath _._

If possible, Zhengting has gotten at least three times warmer in the past five minutes and—okay, Zhengting’s eyelashes are fluttering.

Ziyi watches in slight relief as Zhengting curls a fist into the fabric covering Ziyi’s chest and blearily blinks his eyes open. “‘Ting, I’m so glad you’re awa—” 

His relief is quickly quelled when Zhengting looks back at him, gaze unrecognizing and layered with sickly film. He pants through parted lips for one beat, two, before something in his eyes switches lazily and he groans. “Zi...yi…?”

Ziyi purses his lips and forces a smile. It stretches foreign on his skin. “Yes, baby, I’m here. You’re okay. Listen, I—”

He’s cut off by a violent cough and watches in horror as Zhengting practically flings himself out of his grasp and lands with an ugly thud on the hard floor below. His entire body shakes with effort and his coughs, god, his coughs, are wet and getting stronger until—

Ziyi realizes what’s happening in an instant and runs to grab the trash can by the door, placing it frantically in front of Zhengting’s mouth. “It’s okay, baby, lean forward and let it all out.” 

Tears gather at the edge of Zhengting’s eyes and, with one last cough, he heaves everything out. The mixture splatters into the base of the trash can. Thankfully, nothing splashes over. When everything solid is gone, Zhengting continues to dry heave, tears now free falling down his face. He looks miserable, shaking and small.

Ziyi rubs slow, calming circles on Zhengting’s back as his heaving gives way to tiny, weakened hiccups. He whispers about Zhengting’s strength, about how he’s okay, but Zhengting, to his continued horror, looks even more fatigued and does not stop crying.

Ziyi uses the hem of his shirt to dab the edges of his mouth, and while Zhengting presses his hands to his eyes and sniffles largely, Ziyi grabs and opens a water bottle. He brings it to Zhengting’s lips, carefully parting them open with the rim of the bottle, but Zhengting remains unresponsive, unable to comprehend the situation. 

“‘Ting, drink,” he says softly. 

It takes a bit more gentle coaxing before Zhengting finds the strength to work his throat, sitting there as Ziyi carefully tips water into his mouth. Once Zhengting drinks around half the bottle, Ziyi places it back on the floor and gets ready to move.

Zhengting hardly makes a sound when Ziyi slips an arm under his knees and stands. “We’re going home, okay, baby? Just hang on until then.”

Zhengting remains completely limp as Ziyi begins walking to the door. Seconds stretch to minutes until Zhengting opens his eyes hazily and offers a slow “Mm…” before nudging himself deeper into Ziyi’s hold.

Ziyi looks down at his complacent form, noting his slightly parted lips and flushed cheeks, and feels his stomach churn at the sight.

God, he seems so fragile, so different from the energetic Zhengting who loves to blow unexpected raspberries into Ziyi’s ear, hoping to spark an amusing reaction. 

Ziyi will do everything he can to bring Zhengting back to health. And then scold him for neglecting his health. He’d really like to take Zhengting to a hospital, but the campus health center is closed and busses are no longer running.

All Ziyi can do is bring him to their room, call the 24/7 hotline, and treat Zhengting with what they have. Luckily, Ziyi is a bit obsessive with health, and has stocks of muscle relaxers, cooling pads, and ibuprofen. 

He bustles Zhengting to their dorm, scanning his way into buildings as quickly as his limbs allow. Zhengting isn’t light – can’t be, with the amount of dancing he does making him all lean muscle – but Ziyi barely notices, adrenaline taking the brunt of Zhengting’s weight.

The entire time, Zhengting’s head lolls against his shoulder, rolling between Ziyi’s throat and collarbone. Ziyi spares him a glance every now and then, but Zhengting remains firmly out of it.

Save for the occasional eyelid flutter, Zhengting is deathly slack, and Ziyi’s unhelpful brain likens him to a doll. A very sick, burning doll. 

Fuck. Can he go any slower? 

When Ziyi finally gets him to their room, having lugged them up the stairs because the ancient elevator was too slow, they’re both shaking, fueling each other’s trembles like a live circuit.

It’s hard going – Ziyi almost drops Zhengting on their bed before catching himself and slowing Zhengting’s descent with wobbly arms – but they made it. And now Ziyi can finally _do_ something.

He goes to move away, but Zhengting suddenly clutches his shirt with a surprising amount of strength. Ziyi looks down to see Zhengting staring back at him, more lucid than he’s been in the past hour, watching Ziyi like he’s the only thing keeping him together.

His eyes are already dampening with unshed tears. Seeing Zhengting look like this, like he’ll break if Ziyi goes, shakes something loose inside Ziyi. 

“Oh, baby,” Ziyi says. He presses a kiss to Zhengting’s temple and traces a hand across his jaw. “I’m just going to grab a few things, all right? I need to make sure you’ll be okay.” 

He leans back, but Zhengting just tightens his trembling fist. Ziyi watches his throat work around something, notices him cough wetly, releasing something between a whine and a moan, and waits. Finally, Zhengting gets out, “St… stay?” 

Fuck. May the ground swallow Ziyi now. “You’re okay, Zhengzheng, sweetie. I’ll be _right_ back,” he stresses. “I promise.”

It’s the hardest thing in the world to pull himself from Zhengting’s grip, especially when Zhengting keens tearily and curls in on himself, arm still twitching as he tries to reach Ziyi. He still looks half out of it, but his faraway gaze remains locked on Ziyi.

Heart thudding in his chest, Ziyi gets to work collecting everything as fast as possible. He grabs a couple clean towels and a basin in the bathroom, filling it about halfway with cool water, and setting them aside. Then, he goes to his drawer and grabs his thermometer, Motrin bottle, and a cooling pad.

Upon second thought, Ziyi grabs Zhengting a change of clothes as well, in the form of a soft cotton t-shirt and loose boxer briefs. 

His final stop is the kitchenette in their suite. Luckily, Linkai keeps the cabinets stocked on snacks, so it’s easy to find crackers and a bottle of water. Also, because Linong is a huge fan of tea, Ziyi is able to quickly find and throw green tea leaves in a Thermos and draw water from their water warmer.

Satisfied, Ziyi balances the snacks and medicines in his arms, swings by the bathroom to pick up the towels and basin, and returns to their room.

Ziyi returns to Zhengting lying with his nose in the pillow, struggling to breathe around the congestion in his nose. He’s making pained whimpers and worrying the bottom of his lip. 

“Zhengzheng, baby, I’m here,” Ziyi sets everything on the nightstand beside their bed and cups a hand to Zhengting’s cheek. Zhengting leans into it immediately, expression softening, but his eyes are still wet and delirious. He still feels alarmingly hot, but Ziyi can’t tell if his fever is better or worse.

Keeping a hand in Zhengting’s hair, Ziyi grabs the thermometer and gently pushes it into Zhengting’s ear. At its beep, Ziyi eases it back out to read the numbers. 39.3 degrees. Okay, sigh of relief. It’s high, borderline hospital-worthy, but not quite there.

This means hospitalization can wait. Good. For now, Ziyi just needs to focus on cooling Zhengting’s body heat and keeping an eye on his temperature. 

He reaches for a towel, swiping it through the water and wringing it before wiping a gentle stroke from Zhengting’s forehead to chin. Zhengting cries out and whips his head away, shaking and burning and sweating. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay, we need to get you cooled down.” He soothes, keeping a hand cupped to Zhengting’s cheek. It seems to help, because Zhengting nuzzles into it and relaxes when his nose is pressed to Ziyi’s palm. 

He tries to work fast after Zhengting settles, so as not to prolong Zhengting’s discomfort. Ziyi opens the cooling pad and presses it to Zhengting’s forehead, pressing a soothing kiss to his temple when his eyebrows furrow. Once Zhengting relaxes again, Ziyi makes quick work wiping him down and changing him, Zhengting like putty in his arms and completely dead to the world.

After that, Zhengting is able to swallow the Motrin with murmured encouragements and hair stroking. Ziyi helps him wash down the taste with water and tea, then grabs his phone to request a sick day from his and Zhengting’s professors.

With most orders of business settled, Ziyi leaves to grab more cooling pads, a couple more water bottles, and to prepare a thermos of soup. He also switches out the water in the basin and throws the dirty towels in the bin.

When he comes back, Zhengting is cuddled into Ziyi’s side of the bed, snoring softly. He looks so soft, eyes damp with fever tears and nose red-stained, that Ziyi falls in love all over again.

He’ll need to scold Zhengting later for ignoring his own fever tells, but how can Ziyi feel anything but affection, when Zhengting seeks Ziyi’s scent for comfort?

Ziyi climbs in behind Zhengting, careful to keep from crowding and overheating him. He settles with lacing their hands together and closes his eyes, allowing himself a light sleep before Zhengting’s fever is sure to spike again.  
  


When Zhengting wakes up, he’s _burning._ There’s something pressed against his back, his head is throbbing a mile a minute, and he has no idea where he is. All he remembers is running through his latest showcase choreography, over and over until he was going by muscle memory alone, too dizzy to actually focus on his movements.

He remembers falling against something firm and soft, everything going black, and opening his eyes to find Ziyi’s face hovering over him.

Oh, how his eyes love to play tricks on his delirious mind.

He tries to roll over, desperate to move himself away from the heat. Coupled with the leaden feeling weighing down his limbs and his pounding headache, actually turning from Rotation A to Rotation B proves harder than expected.

Frustrated, Zhengting flings a heavy arm out randomly. Shockingly, it connects to something firm and soft.

Like last night. 

Zhengting’s head whips to the side before he can stop himself, which turns out to be a bad decision that sets his head off and pushes gray into his vision, but. Once it settles… 

Oh. Ziyi’s actually here. And they’re in bed. 

“Mn,” Ziyi grumbles, shifting under his arm and blinking his eyes open. Upon seeing Zhengting staring at him, he cracks a lazy smile and kisses his nose. Ugh. Zhengting loves him so much. His head instantly feels lighter. “Ah, ‘Ting, you’re awake. Good to see you’re looking better.”

Zhengting’s wondering how bad he was before, if his current state is considered better. Honestly, he’s feeling a bit confused. What the hell happened last night?

Ziyi’s still talking, but Zhengting doesn’t catch much while he puzzles over his sparse memories. A warm touch here, a trace along his brow. 

It’s not until he hears, “when I took care of you last night, you were shaking so much, baby,” that Zhengting starts to piece the fragments together, the details slowly filtering in.

Ziyi catching him, Ziyi rubbing his back, Ziyi carrying him home (carrying him home!), Ziyi keeping a grounding hand in his hair, Ziyi pressing something cool against his skin… 

Zhengting tilts his head down and notices that he’s not wearing yesterday’s clothes. In fact, even though he’s clammy, there’s no underlying feeling of _sick_ sticking to his skin. Did Ziyi… do all this?

“Ziyi,” he says. It comes out little more than a whisper, grainy and dry. Ziyi hears him anyway and pauses mid-sentence to listen. Zhengting tries to swallow again, wincing slightly when there’s no saliva to swallow down.

Without further prompting, Ziyi pushes himself up and reaches over Zhengting to grab a water bottle, quickly propping him against the headboard with gentle hands and bringing the bottle to his lips.

It’s a practiced motion.

The ease with which Ziyi manhandles him, even when Zhengting feels heavy as a boulder, drives all momentary thought from his mind.

Ziyi tips water into his mouth slowly, and Zhengting drinks it dumbly, mind looping on Ziyi moving him like he weighs nothing. 

“Baby, how are you feeling?” Ziyi asks, placing a hand on his forehead, under his bangs. Zhengting pushes into the touch. Ziyi reaches behind himself and grabs a thermometer, sticking it in Zhengting’s ear and waiting for the beep. “37.8 degrees. You’ve still got a bit of a fever, but we’re out of the danger zone.”

Zhengting nods into Ziyi’s hand. Something about having Ziyi pressed against him like this dulls the headache in his mind, more calming than any balm.

Ziyi fits bites of crackers and soup in between the sips of water, which Zhengting is grateful for. He thinks he’s hungry, but mostly he’s just dizzy, so he doesn’t think he can keep much in. 

As he feeds him, Ziyi talks, and most of his words filter in and out of Zhengting’s mind, just a soothing presence. He mentions how worried he was – “We’ll talk about this later, when you’re better” – and Zhengting should be worried, but fuck, Ziyi feeding him careful bite after bite pushes him into a still, trance-like state, where all he needs to worry about is chewing and swallowing.

Zhengting couldn’t force a spike in his heartbeat if he tried.

It’s not until Ziyi goes to press him back down that Zhengting notices the watery, golden sunlight filtering through the window. The last time Zhengting remembers being awake, it had been pitch black outside. And a Tuesday. Hm. “‘Yi, what time is it?”

Ziyi keeps his expression mild. “About 6 pm, baby.” 

Zhengting nods along, still floating on currents of _peace_ and _calm_. 6 pm means Ziyi spent the whole day taking care of him… oh. Is he in heaven? This has to be heaven.

A whole day doing nothing, lying in bed under Ziyi’s care. All Zhengting needed to do was get sick. Should he… maybe… get sick more often?

They’ve both been so busy lately, preparing for the senior showcase, that they haven’t spent over two waking hours in each other’s company. Maybe this was necessary, to spend the whole day– wait– Shit. _Shit._

Zhengting’s heart plummets. He missed the entire day, that means he– oh– he had a _test,_ what’s he going to tell his professors– how will he–

Ziyi presses a steadying hand to his shoulder, seemingly sensing his change in mood. Zhengting flops uselessly on the bed and a whine escapes the back of his throat. 

Ziyi smiles, pressing a finger to his lips. “Shh, it’s okay, I let all your profs know you’re sick. They all understood.” When Zhengting opens his mouth, he adds, “Yes, even Professor Li. He said you can email back a time you’re free.”

Zhengting tries to get up again and Ziyi presses a firm hand on his shoulder, continuing, “When you’re better.”

Ugh. Well, if Ziyi won’t let him move… “Cuddle?”

Ziyi chuckles and grabs something before sliding back in behind him. Zhengting hears a mix of plastic and paper being torn, and then Ziyi presses something cold and gel-like onto his forehead. _Oh._ That’s something Zhengting didn’t even realise he needed.

The coolness spreads throughout his body, calming the ache in his head. Fuck. He loves Ziyi so _much._ He turns so that he’s snuggled into Ziyi’s chest, pressing a quick kiss to Ziyi’s collarbone. 

“Thank you,” Zhengting murmurs. “For everything. I love you.”

Ziyi gives the back of his neck a gentle squeeze, and Zhengting practically becomes a puddle in the sheets.

It’s a weird juxtaposition, the cooling pad on his forehead coupled with the burning comfort that comes with being in Ziyi’s arms, but it works in chasing the fever chills and slowing his stress-induced rabbit heartbeat. Zhengting really, truly could not want for more.

As he drifts towards the edges of sleep, there’s a gentle pressure on the top of his head. Then, a quiet, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so self-indulgent wow… ofc only my two fav fluff tropes can inspire me enough to finish my first fic in two years smh… anyway i miss nine percent so much :((((( icb they disbanded in oct 2019 it feels sm longer 
> 
> reminder to leave a comment! they keep me going! <3 <3 ok byeeee


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